Three Days
by MarquessaS
Summary: The brothers reach a flash point and need a breather from each other.  Fourth in the series.
1. Chapter 1

Three days. That was their agreement.

Dean and Sam had been traveling together too long. They were used to bickering...that was a natural sibling thing. But lately, their arguments had been more bitter, deeper and more hurtful. It was just as they say…familiarity breeds contempt. Well in this case, it was closer to breeding a brawl. They knew they were over-reactive after such a long period of close contact while traveling. But they were also aware that they were on the verge of violence, and it was time for them to separate.

Nothing serious...nothing long-term. They just needed a breather from each other.

They were back in Texas, heading for their intended target of Mexico. Sam had planned that particular destination. He had seen his brother suffer having to leave behind a close companion in Louisiana, and had seen him experience terrible things at the hands of both human and ghostly adversaries. And he'd had some rough times himself. He wanted the two of them to forget about the supernatural, at least for a little while, and instead concentrate on the sun, surf and nightlife offered by the Mexican coast.

But along the way their tempers peaked. And they knew they were angry at so many things, but the convenient targets were each other. A little time away would be good for both of them.

Sam decided he wanted to be let out in Houston. There were things there; cultured places. He could see museums, art galleries...freaking libraries. These were things he pined for. He felt like his mind was shriveling like a raisin, and he needed to re-hydrate it. It terrified him that he was actually starting to like Dean's mullet rock...he had to be losing his edge.

As for Dean—he was dangerously stir-crazy. He was deathly tired of sitting sideways in the front passenger seat. He'd tried to take his share of the driving duties but he couldn't stand the position for any length of time. Thanks to the damned Deputy back in Bethel County, his back and ribs still ached relentlessly and it left him in a foul mood. It was decided that Sam would fulfill his need for the urban experience while Dean would take his car and find what ever it was that entertained him. And in three days they would re-unite and continue on. It was a simple solution. Far better than throttling each other.

"You have enough cash?" Dean asked gruffly, as Sam retrieved his gear from the back seat.

"Yeah, for the tenth time. I'll be fine. What about you? Can you manage not to piss anyone off for three whole days? I don't want to have to come rescue you from a jail cell. You didn't give me enough for bail."

"Don't worry about me, Samantha. I can take care of myself. You're the worry here, out alone in the big city...nobody to look out for you."

"I told you a hundred times, Dean, you don't have to take care of me, alright?" he said, irritated.

"Fine!" Dean persisted. "How about a little wager then? I'll bet you fifty bucks you'll be the first one to call. Not counting real life or death emergencies."

"Yeah, well, that kinda leaves it wide open, doesn't it, Dean? You think it's an emergency when you're out of whiskey or you can't find your keys!"

Dean ignored that, instead faking a patient smile for his brother. "Have a nice time. Three days, remember."

"Uh huh. Ditto."

And with that heart-warming exchange, they parted ways. Both sighed deeply in relief as the other disappeared from view.

* * *

><p>Sam shouldered his backpack, taking a deep breath. He felt a little bad about the circumstances of their parting, but at the moment his feeling of freedom washed away any negativity. He felt like a hundred and eighty pounds had been instantly lifted from his tired shoulders. He stood on the street corner, reveling in the tall cityscape sprawled before him. There was so much he wanted to see and do, he hardly knew where to begin. It was a delicious dilemma.<p>

* * *

><p>Dean heaved a deep sigh himself. He'd been <em>this <em>close to clocking Sam. His younger brother was becoming increasingly uppity in the last days. Dean hated feeling that he was being patronized, and for the last part of the trip he felt that nothing he said was right, or bright enough, or educated enough, or, well..._good_ enough, for Sam.

It made him feel like a clueless lout, and it wasn't fair. Yeah, Sam had a more refined sensibility, and a better education. But Dean felt like he was being judged and found wanting, and the fact that he was different from Sam didn't mean he was less.

He probably wouldn't have taken it all so personally under different circumstances. But he was still harbouring a deep resentment over Sam's little exchange with the Deputy Jessup back in Louisiana. The one where he divulged, _insisted_, that Dean was too weak to face the deputy's assault. It didn't help the situation, for one thing. It wasn't like Jessup was a sensitive individual. And all it did was add to the humiliation Dean felt, being dominated and beaten by the corrupt lawman. He hadn't taken his brother to task over it but he probably should have. It would have avoided this build up of anger, this resentment.

But the world turned, and time progressed regardless. Dean knew deep down that Sam was trying to help. He had to get over this himself. But that was a hell of a lot easier without the person in question in his face 24/7. Three days of freedom were going to be _great_.

* * *

><p>Sam thought he should arrange some accommodation for starters. He went through the phone book, and being fairly skilled by now in figuring out the cheapest bed, he located and secured a room for the next few days. With that solved, he went to a trendy little café for some dinner. There were numerous flyers available there, touting the best places for those seeking some more cerebral entertainment. He leafed through them, setting aside a few that advertised some avant garde theatre.<p>

"Looking for a good play tonight?" the waitress asked.

"Yeah, actually. Or anything. " Sam answered. "Any recommendations?"

"There's a fringe festival style production at the Sweet Onion Stage. It's a little out there, " she laughed. "But you might like it."

Sam sat back, assessing the person recommending the production. She was interesting, hair in a very random cut and dyed in colours not necessarily part of nature's palette. She was definitely an individual. "Sounds about right. Got directions?"

She looked at him coyly. "I'm off at eight. If you want some company, I was going tonight anyway. What's your name, by the way?"

"Sam."

"Well, Sam. Meet me here at 8:15 or so. I'll show you what should be seen in this town."

Sam was intrigued. "Ok. See you then, um…."

"Esther, don't laugh."

"Ok then, Esther-don't-laugh. I'll be by after eight."

* * *

><p>Dean whistled as he drove. He had fond memories of a little place on the edge of the city. Years ago, he'd had a great weekend at this bar. Or so he was told, he had only vague memories. But they seemed good.<p>

It was called The Hopping Flea. He remembered several things about it. It was fairly isolated, surrounded by scrubland, which offered plenty of space to stumble and hurl. And there was no danger of offending the delicate sensibilities of any yuppie neighbours. It was rough, though, in his hazy recollection. But rough meant fun, and without the polished millstone of Sam hanging heavily around his neck, he could have an entertaining night in a manner that suited him.

And that meant bourbon, beer and chicks, and maybe a swing or two at some local yokel. All in good fun. Christ, it was Texas after all. Real men didn't sue each other. He smiled widely to himself. He had three days of unobserved, unfettered and unjudged shore-leave in Deanland.

Dean acknowledged that Sam almost always had good intentions, but those four years apart...well, they had sharply defined the differences between them. But he loved his little brother, even when he wanted to pummel him.

Sam was soft where Dean was uncompromisingly hard. And Sam's ideals were the product of educated intellect, whereas Dean's were the result of hardscrabble experience, pain and the heavy weight of ugly reality. Neither was wrong, but they were vastly different perspectives. And sometimes Sam had a way of making Dean feel stupid and inferior. Maybe it was his own problem, but still, it was nice to be out from under his scrutiny. Dean drove on in happy release from his cage.


	2. Chapter 2

While Sam wandered the city in a lazy and carefree search for entertainment, Dean was destined for disappointment. The Hopping Flea hopped no more. Like so many small places that lacked the financial deep pockets of the big chains, it fell to the fickle whims of a paying public that had a short attention span and no loyalty. But it was irrelevant, another establishment had quickly occupied the space. As a matter of fact, two or three had been there before the current tenant. And the current, Tequila Jack's, had all the refinement of it's predecessors. It was perfect. Dean could hardly stifle his grin as he approached. -_Oh yeah_. Tonight was going to be legendary.

* * *

><p>Sam waited in anxious anticipation for his newfound companion. She'd said she was done at eight. He'd rented a car for the time, just a simple little coupe. But joy of joys, t didn't have a tape player but it did have a jack for his MP3. That was damn near to heaven after days upon days of his brother's ancient rock tapes. He sat, waiting in the café parkinglot.<p>

After a few anxious moments he caught sight of her as she exited the back door of the café. She waved in a friendly manner, and approached.

"Hey, Sam. Still up for the show?"

He smiled at her. "Yeah, absolutely. Lead on."

She joined him in the car as he apologized for it, boring rental that it was. They headed off for the theatre. Esther-don't-laugh was still wearing her café uniform, and Sam tried not to notice as she changed into her regular clothes right there beside him. He was blushing furiously as she finished.

"Jesus, sorry Sam, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." she said, her eyes dancing.

-_Liar_… he thought, happily. Sam mumbled something in response. He was becoming very aware that he had a live one here…

Esther was pretty sure she had Sam pegged. A stranger to the city, he had interests that were reasonably refined, but he was a little shy. She was fairly sure, however, that he had a pretty lively core. As a matter of fact, she was banking on it.

* * *

><p>Dean pulled up and parked in the Tequila parking lot. He had yet to secure his accommodations for the night, but his approach to that particular problem was a little different than that of his brother. He gave himself a quick once-over in the rear-view. He decided he passed inspection, he tossed his cellphone back onto the seat to complete his freedom and headed into the place.<p>

The music was raucous, and somewhere to the right of current. Sam would have hated it. But Dean was fired up by it. He approached the bar, ordered a draught, and surveyed his new kingdom. There were any number of likely looking chicks present. Most were dressed for action. As for adversaries, it was typical. The usual hopefuls, hanging around, hovering over coquettish girls who were more likely to laugh at their clumsy advances than accept them. Dean powered up his charm factor and went on the prowl.

It didn't take long. He had a cute little brunette hanging on his every word in no time. And even better, she had a jealous suitor lurking in the wings, ready to defend his claim on her. Dean was spoiling for a fight, he was so god-damned frustrated by his life at present. He wanted nothing more than to release some of that tension through a good, old-fashioned parking-lot debate. Sammy would never have understood, or approved. That was part of the beauty of it.

The suitor was obliging. Dean and he made eye contact...once...twice...then stared each other down. The gauntlet was thrown. -S_tupid bugger_—Dean thought, happily. He flicked his head toward the exit and the other man tersely nodded. Dean quickly downed his fresh drink..._waste-not-want-not_, planted a kiss on the brunette's cheek and headed out to the parking-lot. -_Bring-it-on, dumb-ass_…

Dumb-ass brought it on as best he could. He was young and passionate, but not well-skilled. Dean, on the other hand, was an experienced fighter under any circumstance. He'd had to be. Growing up the way he did, having to constantly defend his father's name, having to protect his brother...he'd learned early on how to fight effectively. And ever since then, his choice of lifestyle honed those skills almost daily.

Dean and the lad squared off. The other fighter was bigger but a little unnerved by the gleeful expression on his adversary's face. He swung a hefty but poorly-aimed haymaker at Dean's head. If it had connected, the fight would probably have ended right there. But it hadn't. Dean had easily anticipated the clumsy swing, and he dodged out of reach and snaked in a decisive right hook to the other's chin. The young bull staggered and shook it off, regaining equilibrium quickly and landing a quick punch to Dean's jaw. But Dean was able to shrug it off too, and he pushed his adversary hard on the chest, knocking him back. The young man threw a lucky right on the way down, Dean saw a star or two before landing on him, but he quickly addled him with another lightning punch, and pinned him down. The younger man swore and struggled, but Dean had him contained. The furious man was expecting to have to twist away from another fist aimed at his face, but he was astonished when Dean started to laugh...first chuckling, and then laughing so hard that he could no longer keep his adversary contained.

The man was tempted, at first, to take advantage of the lapse, but the laughter was so infectious that he succumbed to it himself after a moment or two. Dean released him and sat back on the gravel, still shaking with mirth. The other man, a little bewildered but struck by the good humour, got up and tentatively offered his hand to Dean. Dean accepted it.

"Sorry, man…" Dean said, getting up and dusting himself off. "Sometimes you just gotta."

"Yeah, I hear you." the young man agreed. "It's Sean, by the way."

"Dean." he offered, grinning and ruefully rubbing his aching jaw. He really _had_ missed Texas.

Sean and Dean declared a truce. Dean backed off and Sean pursued his brunette while Dean cast about for another bite. Wasn't long before he'd landed another. He wasn't looking for a saint with a Mensa membership, after all. That was Sam's thing.

This one had a fluffy blond mane and a wide smile. Her chatter was bubbly, and she never once started a sentence with "I think." She was put-together just right. And he liked the way she looked him up and down, without so much as a hint of a blush. After a few more drinks they were on the same page.

"Moon's real pretty tonight…" she said, coyly. "Wanna go for a walk and see?"

He smiled and pulled her a little closer. For a second he had a guilty remembrance of Maggie. But he was pragmatic. He'd always have feelings for her, but he and Maggie had parted. They had made no promises. What was he supposed to do...live like a monk for the rest of his life?

He whispered that he had a blanket out in the car. She giggled and followed him out, cooing over the sleek black Impala.

He grabbed the blanket and they headed out toward the chaparral, away from prying eyes.

She was right, the moon was a silvery beauty, in full phase. He was sure he heard howling, not too far off. Coyotes. Maybe a wolf, or a farm dog.

"Hear that..?" he asked.

She shivered and snuggled closer. "It's creepy. I hate it."

Well that was gonna wreck the mood, he worried. He dredged up some stupid young-country tune he'd heard somewhere, and started humming it, drowning out the other sound.

"Better." She whispered into his ear.

After that, the evening went just dandy.

* * *

><p>"Um...so what's it about, this play?"<p>

"God, I don't know!" Esther laughed. "My friend's in it. I promised her I'd go see it once. Knowing her, it's bizarre and hopeless. This is fringe stuff, Sam...don't expect broadway or Disney."

"Hey, don't worry. I already saw Oklahoma! once." he laughed.

She laughed with him. "So Sam…why are you in this high-brow cow-town anyway?"

"My brother and I are driving to Mexico to hang out for a while. But we got kinda sick of each other, so we're taking a few days off. I wanted to do some things that didn't involve skuzzy bars, or pool, or some bottle-blonde dancing around a brass pole." he said, a little unfairly.

She laughed. "Weird how your relatives can be so incredibly opposite from your own personality. My older sister likes quilting.. She makes useless things out of dried flowers. She thinks I'm nuts."

It was Sam's turn to laugh. "But you get along, your sister and you…?"

"Oh yeah. Most of the time. And I love my nieces. I get a kick out of teaching them phrases that shock the hell out of Monika." she giggled.

Esther gave him directions to the destination, and he parked in front of the venue without having to worry about availability. It didn't bode well for the production. They dutifully sat through the mess. They exchanged looks a few times, arched brows, grimaces. Occasionally stifling guffaws. It wasn't Noel Coward. At the end they sat in silence for a few moments, waiting for the other to react.

Esther took the lead. "What the hell was that?" she asked, snorting in laughter.

Sam was trying to be open-minded, for her sake. But Esther blew the flood gate. He burst into an ungainly guffaw. "Oh my god, Esther! Sorry, I mean...I know your friend is in it, but _christ_!" He dissolved into helpless laughter.

"No shit!" she agreed. "And I'm gonna have to tell her how fabulous it all was. I don't know how the hell I'm gonna do that. Sam, you have to help me!" She was overcome by another fit of guilty giggling. When she'd got a grip, she pulled him away and they escaped before they had to fake their applause.

They walked along the sidewalk, enjoying the city night.

"So, Sam...now that I've exposed you to some of Houston's highest culture, what do you want to see now?"

Sam thought for a minute. "You know what I want? A decent coffee. One that doesn't come served in cardboard. And it can't have a plastic lid that won't stay pressed down and ends up stabbing me up the shnozz. I want it to have, I don't know- cinnamon. Or maybe vanilla. I want someone to tell me the name of the mountainside the beans grew on, without my asking. And it should be ethical...you know, fair market. And I don't wanna order it through my car window."

She snorted. "Is that all? _Texas_ here, princess, not Manhattan."

He laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not really that high-maintenance. That was just a reaction to all the rot-gut road-joe I've had to choke down in the last few weeks. My brother lives on the stuff. Just a good coffee place would be great.."

She already knew the perfect spot. "You made your order, Sam. Come with me." She caught his hand and jogged down the street, towing him.

* * *

><p>Dean and Blondie—<em>what the hell was her name<em>?- had enjoyed a vigorous evening. After a while, when they were lying side by side on the blanket, and the ants were threatening to find cozy new places to nest, they decided to go back to Tequila's and quench their thirst. They pulled the sticks and grass out of each other's hair and clothing, and re-dressed in what ever had been cast off, first shaking them out to make sure no arachnids had taken up residence. They rejoined the noisy throng at the bar. They just made it before last call. Dean ordered as many drinks as he could carry and found a table with his companion.

He slid three colourful drinks with little umbrellas in them across the table to her, lining up his own draughts.

"Aw, thank-you, Don! You are such a sweetie!" she squealed in delight. Paper parasols...so classy. She'd remembered his name wrong. He smiled with pure delight. –_Can't get any less strings attached than that_… This night really had been perfect.

He drained his last draught as the lights went up. "Well, darlin'," he said, slipping into an exaggerated drawl, "It was a blast. Do you have a way home?" He realized, on second thought, that she could be a fine port in a storm.

She nodded. "Yeah...my Trevor's around here somewhere. You ok to drive home?"

"Uh...Trevor?"

"Yeah, that's my husband. Probably outside bashing somebody's head in. He gets ornery when he's had a few."

_-Trevor...Blondie's ornery half-tanked hubby_- He was shocked, and it wasn't easy to shock Dean Winchester. "Oh, sure, I'm good. Noooo problem. Guess I should get going." he stammered. He was appreciative of the good time, but he'd have liked to know that little revelation beforehand. Hell, even _he_ had limits. And the last thing he wanted was to tangle with a homicidally jealous spouse when he was less than sharp.

She winked at him, stroking his arm. "Hope I see you again, Donny."

He smiled a little nervously, exited and quickly headed to his car.

Once he was safely on the road, he heaved a sigh of relief and laughed out loud. -_That was great_- Weird, but freaking great. Day One of their self-imposed exile from each other had gone pretty damn well so far.

* * *

><p>Sam and Esther walked, and chatted about everything that Sam and Dean would never have discussed. It was so refreshing. He hoped Dean was having a good time. It was a guilty thought, because he frankly didn't miss his company at all at the moment. They stopped at a busy little hole-in-the-wall, grabbed a table and talked some more while she waited for the server. When she felt he'd dawdled too long, she yelled toward the kitchen entrance. "Hey, Rap! Get your butt over here!"<p>

_Raph_ poked his grizzled head out to see who was so rudely demanding his attention. When he saw it was Esther, he smiled broadly and came over.

She performed intros, and then told him of Sam's coffee quest, rhyming off his list of requirements verbatim.

Raphael laughed. "Well...that is quite a tall order. But don't you worry, I'll fix you right up."

"This guy knows coffee." she assured.

Raph returned with a steaming mug. He placed it in front of Sam, beaming. Sam looked at it with disappointment. It was just black. No vanilla, no dusting of cinnamon. Not even any cream. It looked like the stuff he'd been suffering through on the road.

"Jesus, that looks boring!" Esther said, playing it up. "I thought you knew your beans, Raph."

He shot her a look. "Listen, you peasant girl. That's the real thing, Kona coffee—from the side of Hualalai volcano. Top grade peaberry. You don't put all that frilly shit in something this good. Go ahead Sam...try."

Sam dutifully took a sip. He was blown away by the flavour. It had absolutely no relation to the ashen ink he'd had before. It was perfect. "Oh yeah.." He shook Raph's hand. "You are the master...it's exactly what I needed."

Raph beamed and admonished Esther. "You see? I know what I'm doing."

Esther laughed. "Never a doubt. Thanks, Raph."

He waved and hurried off to the kitchen.

She reached for the cup, but Sam pulled it out of her reach. "Sorry...too good for peasants."

She punched his arm and he shared.

"Ok, now finish it already. I have a club I want to take you to."

"Well, I dunno...you don't know theatre from shit, but you nailed this. That's only one for two." he teased.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along again.

"Don't you worry, this you'll like."

She was right. They had a great time. The place was packed, the music was current-to-the-second, and they danced until the early hours. Dean would have walked right back out the doors after entering this place. There were certain things about his younger brother that he'd never understand. When closing time came, Sam and Esther walked, exhausted and happy, back along the street, pausing to enjoy the starry black sky.

"Wanna come over to my house to play?" she asked him point blank.

He blushed. He did that so easily, it cracked her up.

"Sure" he quipped. "If it's ok with your mom."

"Not my mom. I live with the quilt-nazi…" she grimaced. "Monika's divorced, she and I share a condo. We'll just have to sneak in quietly, or the kiddies will wake up and I'll never hear the end of it. Don't worry, Sam...thick walls...thick door." She winked at him.

* * *

><p>They managed to keep the housemates' slumber intact. And Sam and Esther got to know each other <em>really<em> well.

* * *

><p>Now that his potential bed for the night would be shared by his companion's hulking spouse, hardly an enticing threesome...Dean decided it would be fine to just sleep in the Impala. He decided to take a scenic route, looking for an unobtrusive spot to park for the night. He felt a bit guilty, he knew he was fine to drive, he had an excellent capacity, but he was also aware that technically he probably wasn't. He'd have blown over if he was stopped. So he drove very carefully.<p>

-Good thing too. Because if he'd been going faster, he wouldn't have been able to react as quickly as he did when the animal darted in front of the car. It was some sort of huge dark dog, maybe wolf. It bolted unexpectedly across the road. _Why do they always do that?_- He braked hard and swerved. The bumper struck its hip a glancing blow, sending it skidding on its side for a few yards before it regained its footing and scrambled away.

-_Shit!_ Dean's swerve headed the car toward the shallow ditch, where it ground to a halt in a swirl of burnt rubber and grit. When the dust settled, and his nerves did a little as well, he got out to survey the damage, if any.

The dog, or whatever the hell it was, was nowhere to be seen. He hoped it wasn't too badly hurt. But when he saw his front end, he wished the sonofabitch was a hairy pancake under the car. The right front wheel was at a ludicrous angle. The tie-rod was obviously snapped. He wasn't going to be driving out tonight. He sighed and stood for a few moments, ooking at it, with his hands on his hips. -Aw, _man! _He almost dialed Sam, but he caught himself. It wasn't worth it. Little brother was not gonna win his hard-earned fifty bucks on top of everything...and he wanted the ribbing even less.

He got down to examine the problem more closely. He was relieved to see that the tie-rod was intact, it was just the connecting bolt that had been sheared off. But it hung uselessly, the impala was still un-drivable. He was going to have to get a tow. He checked the bumper next. No dents. No blood, either. There was a tuft of coarse, wiry hair caught under the chrome trim of the light. He pulled it out and discarded it.

Dean bit the bullet and called for a tow to the nearest garage. -_Another hundred bucks down the crapper_—he thought angrily. The dispatcher warned Dean that he was really out in the boonies, it would be at least an hour before the truck could get out there.

He tossed the phone back onto the seat and leaned against the car, listening to the night sounds of the scrub. Crickets were singing...or toads, he didn't know. Nice sound. It occurred to him that he should try to track the animal a little, see if it really was ok. He didn't want it to suffer if it was injured. Animals sometimes ran from such impacts on pure adrenalin alone, dropping and succumbing to their injuries a distance away. He opened the trunk and retrieved his gun, checking to see that it was loaded. He locked the trunk, and the car, and set out, following what he could see of the clawed footprints scarred into the dry ground. He was glad the moon was full...it's cool, silvery light was illuminating the night scenery well.

Dean followed the tracks for half a mile, relieved that he probably wouldn't have to dispatch some unfortunate creature. Thanks to his car situation, he wasn't feeling particularly charitable towards it, but he would have regretted not checking. He marveled at the size of the paw prints. Just about the size that Ivan the Irish wolfhound would have made, although judging by the impressions, this canine was a lot heavier. If it was a wild dog, a coyote or wolf, it was a damn big one. He figured he'd done his duty now. No sign of it, dead or alive. Time to head back, the tow truck would be by any minute and he'd hate to miss him after the long wait.

He was about to turn around and retrace his path when he stopped, puzzled. Something was suddenly different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling.

It was the silence. Up until that moment he had been serenaded by the chorus of trilling coming from the brush. They were all quiet now, it was strange. But he chalked it up to his own presence. No doubt he himself was scaring the fauna into silence, he just hadn't really paid attention.

But when the smell reached his nostrils, he did pay attention. Something was starting to overpower the resinous, dusty scent of the brush. He stopped, sniffing the air. It was getting stronger the more he continued away from the road. It was rich, organic. Coppery.

He stopped again, listening, and searching for the source of the strengthening odour. The silence around him was like a blanket, all he could hear was his own breath and the dry crunch of his steps. A slight breeze brought more of the stench, and he walked in the direction from which he guessed it was originating.

_Blood_. It was blood. And it was everywhere. In the center of the gory mess that greeted him was the body of a steer. A recent kill, he guessed. It was still slightly warm, which was why the smell still had such a meaty, fetid strength. You weren't supposed to smell the inside of a cow, the outside was bad enough. The carcass had been eviscerated, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. It had been brought down, torn at, and the softest, choicest parts devoured. Entrails were spread out over the clearing. It's heart was gone, leaving a gaping cavity.

-_ugh_- Nature was damn gross sometimes. This was probably why the wolf...it had to be a wolf—was running across the road. It wanted to go back, to feed on its kill some more. He was feeling a bit uncomfortable, separated from the safety of his car. He couldn't see it anymore and he didn't want to get caught between the kill and whatever laid claim to it. He moved off in what he thought was the direction of the road.

It was then that he found the second steer. It too had been killed in a bloody frenzy, although, judging from it's condition, not as recently. And it also showed signs of selective consumption. Dean guessed the cattle were easy pickings, which was why the whole carcasses weren't being devoured. The wolf, or wolves—could bring one down at will and eat what they wanted. He gave the spot a wide berth and stopped to regain his bearings.

All this scrubby shit looked the same...nothing stood out as a marker and it was just high enough to obscure the view of the terrain. He was getting frustrated that he'd guessed wrong, twice now, as to which direction to find the road. He chose again, hoping he was right this time as the place was giving him the willies.

_-F~~k_! Wrong again. This was place was like a goddamned labyrinth. He decided to push through it instead of following the meandering spaces between the brush. The branches were brutally tough and dry, more than once he swore as his face and hands were scratched. He was really glad he had his jacket over his tee-shirt.

It was then that he came across a third kill. It bore all the same hallmarks as the others. It was surrounded by a sticky carpet of red, eviscerated, it's heart carved out and missing. But this one was far more disturbing. He stopped short in horror, staring at the carnage. It was smaller than the other two. And Dean knew of no animal that wore denim...save one.

It was a man. And the kill was fresh…


	3. Chapter 3

Sam awoke to a note on his pillow. Esther was gone to attend classes, and would be back at four. He groaned-checking his watch. It was ten-ish. He could hear activity outside the closed bedroom door, ittle voices, and another one, older—patiently instructing. He was mortified. Here he was, a perfect stranger, a _man_, in the home of these people. They may not even know he was even there.

That little comforting illusion was shattered by a knock. "Hello, in there… If you'd like some breakfast, it's on the table now."

The voice was similar to that of Esther, but a little different. He answered, embarrassed to be invading their morning routine. He quickly dressed, smoothed his unruly hair and stepped out.

The two little girls squealed in delighted laughter. "Mom says you must be lazy because you sleep in so long!"

Sam smiled sheepishly. "Well, this morning, I think she's right." He blushed and added, "Sorry to interrupt your morning...my name's Sam."

Monika smiled patiently. "That's alright. Please, have a coffee." She'd clearly faced similar scenarios before.

Sam accepted the cup gratefully, and sat down.

"I'm Tressa. And that's my sister Amelie. Are you Auntie Ester's boyfriend? Are you gonna marry her?" Both girls giggled.

Monika admonished the forthright four year old. "Therese, that's not polite. Please eat your breakfast."

Sam apologized quietly. "I am really sorry. This must be awkward with the girls. I'll get out of your hair in a few minutes."

Monika nodded in a that'd-be-best manner. But she smiled at him not unkindly.

He addressed the girls' question. "No, not getting married. Your Aunt and I just went dancing, and it was very late when we were done, and we were very tired. So she said I could stay here, but I'm going home soon. Those are pretty names you have."

"My Daddy is from France, so we have French names." Amelie informed. "They make really thin pancakes there."

Sam laughed. "Yes they do, and they're yummy. Do you know what they call them there?"

"Crates!"

"Almost right. Crepes."

Both girls beamed at him. Monika smiled and sent the girls off to wash up. Sam apologized yet again for intruding. The older sister laughed. "It's ok, Sam. You seem like a decent sort. But I will have to take the girls to their daycare at eleven, so….."

"I will be out within the hour, I promise. And thanks. Uh, what's Esther studying?"

"She's in her third year of nursing. She'll be doing her placement next semester." Monika didn't ask anything personal about Sam. What was the point?

"Ah. Well, that's great." He fiddled with his empty cup, and made a motion to get up to wash up and get himself out the door asap. "Excuse me, I'll just get ready to head out. Thanks for the coffee. Nice meeting you.."

She smiled in return, and went back to reading her paper.

Once outside, Sam sighed in relief. That _really was_ awkward. _Thanks a lot, Esther_. He got his bearings and headed to where he'd parked the rental.

* * *

><p>-<em>Oh Christ!<em>- Dean looked away, nearly gagging. He had seen worse, but he was usually well prepared for it. This was an absolute and unexpected shock. He turned back to the corpse. He needed to figure this out quickly, before whatever was responsible came back. He looked around, making sure that there wasn't anything out there, ready to defend it's dinner. It seemed safe in that regard, for the moment.

He walked slowly and carefully around the mess. The poor guy was still wearing a wide-eyed expression of shock, but it was clear those eyes weren't seeing anything. He had a plaid shirt, shredded now. A bloodied jacket of some sort was dragged away to the left. There was a hat, a western type thing, tossed upside down against the edge of the brush. Dean surmised that this was the owner of the cattle, probably out looking to find his missing animals. That was a mistake, apparently. Shoulda stayed at home.

He knelt down, taking a closer look. Definitely some animal, lots of claw damage. But the fact that it was a human victim, and the heart, torn out and taken, well_ that_ wasn't normal, natural behaviour. Wolves generally had a healthy fear of humankind, and for good reason. Man did it's best at every turn to eradicate such "nuisance" species. No...this attack was done by something bolder. _Stronger_-

He'd seen the signs before, and he had hoped he wouldn't see them again anytime soon. This was wolf, alright—but not wolf alone. There was a vicious purpose to this...no natural creature behaved like this.

_Werewolf_. Dean backed away from the scene. He was in trouble. He had his gun, sure. He could have dispatched anything normal, if he'd had to. But this was different. He had a clip full of regular ammo. And a trunk full of silver. But neither was of any use at the moment.

-_shit-shit, shi_t- He heard sounds, a voice, calling. Clanking and hydraulics, maybe a winch. It was the tow truck. He loped in the direction of the sound, relieved. The Impala was being loaded. He'd just have to—

There was no chance to finish that thought. He was struck down from the side, a heavy, stinking mass crashing into him. Dean hit the ground hard, with a grunt of pain. He twisted away to one side defensively and kicked out with his feet. His assailant backed off, circled, and came in again. Dean's guess was unhappily confirmed. It was more than wolf, less than man. And it launched itself at him again.

-_Sonofabitch! _The thing had impossibly long claws, Dean felt them hook into his side and tear out as he jerked away and swung at it. His fist connected with its belly and it huffed out a heated breath, spraying foamy saliva. The creature growled a deep, guttural sound and went at him again. Dean was starting to panic, he had no chance to regroup and defend himself effectively...all he could do was react and fend it off. He knew it was paramount to avoid those snapping jaws. One bite, one brush with that poisonous saliva in an open wound and he was done for. He'd rather die here, or blow his own brains out, than join the ranks of these foul things.

He concentrated all his effort on keeping the thing's head away from his vulnerable self. Unfortunately it meant he could spare no defense against those razor claws. He let loose a strangled scream as the back feet kicked at his middle. It was trying to disembowel him, just as it had that other poor bastard. Dean didn't wish for that any more than a bite from those slavering jaws, and he raised a foot and booted it as hard as he could in the side. It retreated with a yelp for a few seconds before coming at him again. He had just enough time to snatch his gun from his waist and fire three shots into its hairy bulk.

It was enough to scare it off for a while. But Dean knew it wasn't going to kill it. He needed silver for that, silver that he didn't have. He had a moment to catch his breath and take stock. He sat in the dirt, leaning back against a brushy trunk, and examined his midriff, suddenly feeling the places those filthy claws had torn through. He could feel the fluid warmth wash down, soaking the waistband of his jeans. Now that he was focused on it, the pain was intensifying by each passing second. He put a hand to his side, shutting his eyes tightly, and moaning despite himself. His palm came away slick with blood.

_Screwed. I'm just screwed. _he thought in despair. Without silver, all he could do was fight it off until he was too exhausted or too torn up to keep on. He should save one shot for himself... He held his shaking hand up to the thin moonlight, appalled at how much of his own blood had coated it. It covered his palm, oozing between his fingers. His ring was obscured by the red.

_-his ring_- It was more than sentimental. It was _silver_- He whipped his head around, hearing the low howl coming from somewhere behind him. -_Crap_—! The only difference between a silver bullet and that ring was delivery. He fished in his coat pocket, retrieving his knife. He never had to worry that it was sharp enough. It was a gift from his dad when he was twelve, and he honed it religiously. Checking around anxiously, he grabbed a thick, straightish branch and twisted it off it's trunk. He stripped off any greenery and made a quick job of whittling a sharp, pointed tip on one end, thinking that a makeshift stake as good as any. Next, he slipped off the ring, jamming it onto the point as far down as it would go. He didn't want it to fly off into the grass before he could embed it. He only had one shot at this, and he was very aware of it.

He braced the other end of the stick against the base of the stout little tree behind his back, and waited, panting, and blinking hard to keep his vision clear. He wouldn't have the strength to shove the crude spear through the tough hide and bone on his own, but with it jammed against something resistant, maybe...

If it launched at him again, and he knew it would, and if he could keep the point aimed just right...he could use the things own momentum against it. He might be able to pierce through into the heart of the creature...he might actually _have_ a hope in hell.

He could hear the Impala being winched up onto the bed of the tow truck in the distance. Drawing a sharp breath, he turned his head and yelled toward it, but the sound from the truck overpowered his voice. It didn't draw the attention of the operator.

But it drew the wolf's.

Dean had mere seconds of warning, catching sight of the glowing red eyes amongst the brush momentarily, before it leapt. He gritted his teeth and held the makeshift spear as firmly as he could, with it's jerry-rigged silver payload pointing forward-

-_Here we go-!_ he thought.

* * *

><p>Sam drove out to his pre-arranged accommodations. Once settled in, he decided to crash for a little while, Monika's opinion be damned. It <em>had<em> been a late and busy night. He felt sorry for Esther, having to be alert and intelligent in class after that. But she was probably fairly used to burning the candle at both ends. He had grabbed a paper on the way, and some fast food breakfast. He lounged on the bed and ate leisurely, while flipping through the pages. It crossed his mind again, curiosity about his brother's experiences so far. He smiled to himself...it was usually Dean who woke up in the waitress's bed. He already had him trumped. Well, maybe… No doubt Dean had charmed some starry-eyed chick in record time, lucky bastard.

He thought about Esther. She was a lot of fun. Different from anyone else he'd spent time with. He was surprised by the nursing thing, she hadn't even mentioned college… and he'd have pictured her in something like theatre or maybe visual arts. He scolded himself for stereotyping her. He wasn't exactly sure if she expected to see him again, but she did leave him the note indicating when she'd be back. He'd give her a call then.

Finishing up his breakfast, he decided his free time was too valuable to sleep away. After a quick shower, he went back out, deciding to check out some museums or maybe a gallery. Out of habit, he started to dial Dean, to give him a heads-up as to where he'd be. But the bet, and their less-than-tender parting, came to mind just in time. He flipped the phone closed. There was no way he was giving that arrogant jerk the satisfaction of gloating.

And fifty bucks was fifty bucks—he wasn't_ that_ curious about Dean's activities.

* * *

><p>It was an unfortunate decision.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean held his arms rigid as the werewolf attacked.

He wanted to shut his eyes, but he didn't, he stared hard at the monstrous jaws as they bore down on him. But he underestimated the ferocity; the spear was knocked sideways and he had to abandon it and roll away. The thing crashed headlong into the brush as Dean scrambled to grasp the stick again. He found it and whipped around, anticipating the next lunge, planting the spear end into the ground in readiness. But the ring...it was no longer on the point. It must have slipped off in the impact.

He scrambled on his hands and knees, desperately raking his fingers through the dusty dry weeds, cursing and praying simultaneously. He was forced to abandon the search as the thing crashed against him again. He felt the crushing pressure of the teeth clamp on his shoulder, he howled and swung at the head with the stick and it released him. The thick, strong leather of his father's hand-me-down coat kept the teeth from puncturing his skin. He scrambled away again as it lunged forward, the wicked curve of the front claws finding flesh again, tearing through the thin cotton of his shirt, and the skin and muscle of his chest as he rolled desperately.

He got back to his knees, and aiming wildly, he pumped his remaining bullets point blank into its hide. It shrieked and retreated into the brush. Dean fell back down to resume his frantic search for the ring. -_C'mon, c'mon-!- _He caught it up in his bloody, dust-caked hands just as the wolf returned to launch another furious attack. He jammed the ring hard onto the point, rammed the opposite end into the packed dirt, and spun to face it with a fraction of a second to spare.

The impact threw them both violently to the ground. Dean felt the stake snap under the creature's bulk, where his hand gripped it. -_Christ-_! He'd have yelled but the thrashing beast was crushing the breath out of him, flailing it's limbs and throwing it's head wildly. As he struggled to keep those deadly teeth away, the heavy, misshapen skull connected with his own, filling his sight with whirling sparkles, and he blacked out. His last thoughts lamented his failure as he lost consciousness.

He came to, after a few moments, still pinned under the beast, with his ears ringing. It wasn't moving anymore. It took Dean a second or two to realize the significance, he barely believed it. He shoved the lifeless thing off him and crawled away from it, terrified it would rise up again as he worked to slow his hyperventilating. "_Sonofabitch_! he thought...and that little phrase encompassed a world of emotion at that moment. He sat back and leaned against another group of thin trunks, coaxing his heart and lungs to settle down. Relief washed over him, but the comfort was short lived as he started to feel the results of his battle.

His shoulder was bruised from the unsuccessful bite of the creature, but that was nothing. The torn places in his side and chest were a different matter. He pushed the sodden, shredded material out of the way, shuddering. All of them bled freely, although those on his chest were slowing already. But the other two in his side, the lower one in particular, were far deeper, and streaming heavily.

He let the shirt drop, resting his head against the trunks. He was already starting to feel light-headed, and he realized he'd better bind them fast. His arms felt like lead, sluggish in compliance with his brain's demands. As the light of dawn strengthened, he shrugged off his jacket and pulled the ruined remains of his shirt over his head, resting afterward. He wrung it out a little, and tore the rest of it into long strips, tying them together and wrapping them as tightly as he could around his middle.

It would have to do. He had no energy left. He slid sideways and drifted into blackness again.

* * *

><p>Sam had a very enlightening morning. He went to two galleries and an awesome rare book store. He even went through an antique china and crystal shop, not because he cared to see the contents—he didn't, particularly, but simply because he <em>could. <em>He grabbed a satisfyingly spicy lunch at a little Thai place, and as he enjoyed it, he toyed absent-mindedly with his phone. —_wonder what, or who, Dean's doing at the moment_- he thought. He pushed the phone aside, chiding himself for even thinking about it. He opened a magazine he'd picked up and perused it, while finishing the last of his tea.

He still had a few hours to kill before he gave Esther a call. He thought he should take her out to dinner, as a thank-you for showing him around the town…and other things. He abandoned the magazine in favour of the paper, looking through to decide what else was worth seeing. A movie...that'd do. One that Dean would run screaming from. Sam checked what was available, and the times. Something appropriately deep caught his attention, and it started in fifteen minutes. Best of all, it would have no car chases, gun battles, explosions or idiotic post-carnage one-liners. He wasn't as picky about the addition of the occasional bimbo, but he guessed this film didn't have those either. He laughed out loud, thinking of Dean 's reaction if he'd been forced to watch it with him. The whining would have been endless.

He got there just in time to grab some popcorn and see the trailers. It felt like such a guilty pleasure, seeing an afternoon show by himself. He made himself as comfortable as he could, those small theatre seats were never designed to accommodate someone with his big frame, and lost himself in the film. Theatre sound systems are so loud. He never even heard his phone when it rang.

* * *

><p>Dean awoke slowly.<p>

The sun was higher, much hotter than he remembered. He rolled onto his back, spitting out the grit that he'd licked off his dry lips. He tried to dust the sand from the side of his face, it was getting into his eyes, but his motions were out of sync somehow, clumsy, and he swiped roughly at it instead, sending more grains onto his eyelashes. He squinted at the sky. -_too damned bright_- He was so thirsty, it was all he could think about. He was confused by the painful and constricted feeling of his chest, raising his head with effort to see what the hell the problem was. -_wrapped, right_.- He remembered now. He glanced fearfully over to where the werewolf had lain. It was still there, still dead, thank god. -_good_- He pulled himself up to a semi-seated position, a tight grimace distorting his features. He nearly blacked out again, but he sat still and the feeling passed.

He forgot what he was about to do. His mind felt so weirdly distant, so fuzzy. He glanced down, and remembered. He needed to check on the scratches. _ Scratches_ didn't really fit, but it was what came to mind. He found the end of the wrapping and slowly unwound it. It was soaked through. The gashes in his chest stayed closed, no bleeding. They wouldn't be a worry. But the moment the pressure was released from his side, blood welled up again and trailed down to his already stained waistband.

-_F~~ck, that hurts_- he thought, his eyes watering. He re-wrapped the side, tighter this time, and lay back again. He didn't want to think about it, and maybe it would stop in a little while. Logic and experience told him that wasn't likely, but he ignored his own sound advice and chose to wait and see. The alternative was too ugly to face at the moment..

He glanced around. Nothing but dry bushes and dust. No point in hunting for anything drinkable, he wasn't gonna find it here. He reached over and snagged his coat, going through the pockets. A stick of gum...better than nothing. He squinted at it, trying to focus on the suddenly complex task of unwrapping the damn thing. –_how many freaking paper layers were on this?_- He dropped it, swore, and picked it out of the dirt. He stuck it between his teeth. It helped a little. At least now the cotton in his mouth was cool, minty cotton. He thought that was enough of an accomplishment for now, and he lay back down in the shade. _Just for a little while_. He wished he hadn't stupidly left his phone in the car. He figured this qualified as a bona-fide emergency, no court in the country would make him hand over that fifty bucks.

* * *

><p>Sam had really enjoyed that. It was nearly five now. He thought he'd try his luck with Esther. He left the darkness of the theatre and stepped out into the bright sun of the street, fishing in his pocket for his cell. It was only then that he saw the missed call. -<em>Ha!<em>- he thought triumphantly. Dean didn't even make it through the second day. He checked the message, but there was none. Couldn't have been too important, then. He wondered if Dean would try to claim that it didn't count because he changed his mind before Sam answered. He probably would.

He dialed Esther's number, hoping that it would be her rather than the somewhat dour older one. She had just got in the door, and was delighted to hear from him. And oh yeah-, did she have plans. Sam convinced her to let him spring for dinner, if she chose the place. She told him to meet her at an Indian restaurant, giving him directions. The evening was shaping up.

* * *

><p>This time the sun was heading down towards the horizon. Dean spat out his bit of gum, it was gritty with sand, and tried to sit up. That didn't work as well as he'd envisioned. The second try got him pulled up against the trees a little higher. He sighed and looked down at the bandage, then up to the blue of the evening sky. <em>God,<em> he was thirsty. He looked down and saw the ants, busily criss-crossing over his bloody wrappings, taking away their little bits of nourishment. _-ok...that's gross_- .he thought, absent-mindedly. He flicked them away lazily. He sighed again, realizing he wasn't thinking straight. Normally he'd have freaked at bugs crawling all over his middle. He rubbed a sticky hand over his face, rising out of his stupor a little. -_better check_- He unwrapped his bandage again, fervently hoping. But the minute he loosened it, the blood started again. He pressed his hand against it. He cursed and looked away for a moment, drawing in a ragged breath. He knew he'd already waited too long. He had to do it.

He needed three things. A bullet. His knife. And a match.

Four, actually. He needed a fresh branch, a short piece of one, anyway., one that wouldn't crack and splinter, and choke him. He _really_ didn't want to do this. He'd have given anything to avoid it. But he scolded himself. -_just get it over with, you pansy_-

* * *

><p>Sam met Esther at the Jasmine Restaurant. He gave her a bit of a guilt-trip over his awkward morning and she hooted with laughter at his expense. The food was incredible, so different. Esther assured him it was as authentic as Indian food could get in Houston. She asked about his day and he asked about the nursing. They spent the meal talking and drinking. At the end of it, Sam asked what was on the agenda. She rhymed off an exhaustive list of very cool activities, he let her take the lead again and she once again showed him where the real places to be were.<p>

He was truly having a good time—, but off and on, she thought he seemed a bit distracted.

"Don't tell me you're bored!" she scolded.

"What? You're kidding, right? Trust me, it's nothing...I'm just a little worried about my brother. He called earlier, but he didn't leave a message."

"And?" she snorted. "What, were you two conjoined before the successful surgery? No message means not important. God, no wonder you two drive each other nuts!"

When she put it that way, he felt a little stupid. Dean was a big boy...he'd call again if he needed to. But maybe he'd give him a call later anyway.

* * *

><p>Dean snapped off a stick from a bush behind him. He carefully stripped off the little sharp branchlets and any remaining leaves, then laid it beside him. It was a simple little action that took way too much energy. He was developing a pounding headache and he knew he was getting dangerously dehydrated.<p>

-_right…one down-_

Next, he searched his coat and found his knife again, laying it beside the stick.

_-that's two-_

He dug his spare clip from his back pocket, shaking a bullet out into his palm. He closed his hand over it, drifting for a minute. His Dad had taught him this little trick.

-_three…ok_-

He blinked his eyes clear and focused on his task, prying with the edge of the knife until the slug popped out of the top of the bullet. He carefully placed the open casing upright in the sand beside the stick, and dropped his heavy arm to his side again. All these stupid little things were exhausting him. After a moment, he retrieved his matchbook from his coat breast pocket.

-_and four_-

Steeling his nerve, he unwrapped the offending wound, pressing it to squeeze out excess blood, and sluicing it away. He picked up the casing, tipped it and carefully poured out the gunpowder all around in the opening. He jerked as the acrid stuff touched the exposed flesh.

-_gotta hurry_-

He isolated a match from the rest and held it ready. He clamped the stick between his teeth.

He lit the match. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. And he dropped his hand and touched it to the powder.

A brief flare...and a smell of burned sulphur. His scream scattered the birds from the brush in all directions.


	5. Chapter 5

This time, Sam insisted they crash at his motel room. He didn't feel like running the gauntlet again with the sister and the children. After another busy and very entertaining evening, he and Esther were beat. They got in well past three in the morning. He wondered if she did this sort of thing most nights, and how the hell she managed it.

She looked around the room, wrinkling her nose a little. "Wow...very retro."

Sam laughed. "Yeah...I'm sure that's what they were going for." He pulled her down beside him with a mischievous smile.

"Hey, I thought you were so tired?" she teased.

'No...no, just a little headache. But I do think I need some serious medical attention...wanna play nurse?"

"Sam, I tell ya, if you knew what I had to learn how to do last week, you wouldn't be asking for that!" But she pounced on him anyway.

* * *

><p>Dean awoke to darkness, shivering violently. He was now too weak to get up, and he trailed his arm around until his fingers found the edge of the coat, dragging it over himself. His thirst was raging, his body temperature had been rising steadily over the past hours. He'd successfully cauterized the wound, the brief but intense flare instantly seared it, stopping the bleeding. But the claws that caused it were so caked with filth from the creature's bloody exploits that infection was inevitable. He closed his eyes again, appreciative of the comforting protective warmth the jacket offered. But within a short time he cast it off again, now too hot and miserable with fever.<p>

He was pretty sure this was it for him. There was nothing left that he could do now to improve his lot. Nobody in their right mind would be coming out here. And he had no way to call Sam. He was glad he had at least wasted a werewolf in the process. Maybe they'd write that on his headstone. That'd be cool. He could picture people coming across it, puzzling over that, like it was some sort of inside joke. He felt bad for his little brother...eventually Sam would find his body, and by then he'd be pretty disgusting. And Sam would have to face the world alone now. He felt bad about that too.

* * *

><p>When morning rolled around, way too quickly, Esther was already up and dressed when her watch alarm beeped at seven. She kicked the side of the bed, waking Sam. "Hey lazy...what do you take in your coffee when it's regular rot-gut? I'm going out to get some."<p>

"Double-single, thanks."

She left, and Sam decided to take the opportunity to call Dean without being teased. He punched the number, waiting for him to pick up. When it switched over to his voicemail, he gave up, leaving no message. If he wasn't answering at seven a.m., he was probably busy with more pleasant company. He hauled himself out of the bed and hit the shower. He was already dried and dressed when she returned, loaded with breakfast.

"So what now, for you, Sam?" she asked, dividing the spoils. "Still gonna hit the Mexican beach with your brother?"

"Yeah, I guess so. " he sighed. It wasn't that he was dreading seeing Dean...just the thought of going back to doing things the way they were used to. The last two days had been a balm for his soul, but the liberated feeling made going back to life on the road seem all the more oppressive. He'd felt so _normal_ these last days. Better than normal.

"You sure you have to? You don't seem too eager…"

He smiled and sighed. "No...it'll be good. Dean's a great guy, we get along, and he always has my back, you know? It's just...uh...complicated." -_There's an understatement_-

"Mmm. Well, I'm glad to have been here to show you the town, Sam. You're a lot of fun. Excellent lay, too."

He blushed again. She smiled and crumpled her breakfast debris into a pile.

"This sounds suspiciously like a goodbye." he said.

"Yep, afraid so. I have class til seven tonight, and then I have travel this weekend. So…with you heading off into the Mexican sunset with your brother, I guess this is it." She kissed him one more time on the lips, lingering. "Damn…gonna miss that."

"Me too." he pouted.

She opened the door and paused. "Call me if you're ever out this way again, Sam. I'd love to hang out with you...anytime."

He promised he would. And she was gone.

-_Too bad_- he thought. But she'd made it easy, he would have had to start the same conversation at some point with her anyway. He picked up his coffee and drained it, it was getting cold. He couldn't complain...it really had been a great little period of exile. He nearly dropped the cup when his phone rang.

A quick thought of gloating was replaced by concern as a stranger's voice spoke. _"Yeah, uh, I'm looking for the guy who called for the tow on the 67 Impala? We have it here at the shop, just need the go-ahead to do the front end work."_

Sam's heart froze. "This is his brother. What's going on? Why do you have his phone?"

_"Well, he called for a pickup the other night, said he'd hit some animal and maybe broke a tie-rod. We went out and loaded it, but he never showed. So I saw this here phone on the seat, and I figured to just hit redial, see what I get._"

"Oh, sure. Uh, how long ago? Not last night, the one before?"

_"Yeah. He called 'round one in the early morning. Took an hour to get out there, way out in the frikkin' boonies. We got there and the car was in the ditch, so we loaded it. Waited around for a bit, but we had other calls so we towed her in._"

Sam made a sound of acknowledgement.

_"So...do you want us to do the repair? Just needs a new bolt on the rod-end. Could use some bearing work, too, but it'll keep. The tow was a hundred-twenty bucks, by the way."_

"Yeah...uh, sure, go ahead, I'll cover it." Sam said, distracted with worry. "Give me directions out, I'll come right now." Two nights ago... he called two nights ago. And he'd been without his car ever since, with no contact… Sam ran the scenario over and over in his mind as he drove out to the garage. This was wrong...really _really_ wrong. He knew his brother, he'd rather leave his arm behind than that damned car.

He knew he should have taken it more seriously when he'd missed his call. If it _was_ his call, it could have been the tow truck guy, for all he knew. -_Shit_-

It was a bit of a drive and he had plenty of time for self-reproach. He had to keep calming himself; they were both adults, they'd both agreed they needed a break from each other. Dean especially, was well equipped to take care of himself. _-I am not my brother's keeper_- It was some old biblical sentiment. As he recalled, it didn't work there either.

None of his rationalizing helped and he was consumed by worry and overwhelming guilt. Dean had called, maybe in distress, and he didn't call back. Two nights had passed and he was nowhere to be seen, separated from his car, and his phone. -_What the hell-what the hell?_-

Sam finally pulled into Fraser's Garage. The Impala was there, repaired and ready, shining despite the dust. Without Dean behind the wheel, it just looked empty and powerless. Sam paid what was owing. "Where was it that you picked up the car from?"

"Oh geez, that was way out on county 5, in the scrubland. Your buddy said he'd been at Tequila Jacks...it's a bar out there, wild little joint, and he was heading home when he hit something. He was gonna check it out, see if it needed to be put down or something while he waited for the truck. We finally got out there and we loaded her up. The driver waited for a while, he called a few times but he didn't show. Figured he'd got a lift back into town."

All Sam could think was _two nights ago_… "Can you direct me out to where the car was?"

'Yeah, sure. You think he's in trouble, your buddy?"

"He's my brother." Sam corrected, trying to hide his impatient irritation. "I don't know.. Probably not. I'm sure it's fine…" He was sure it _wasn't._..it all felt so profoundly out of character.

He wrote down the directions. He left the rental there and called it in, he'd take the Impala from there on. "Uh...how'd he sound when he called in? Was he, you know—calm? Or freaked out?"

"Sounded pissed that he'd had a problem with his car. But other than that he sounded pretty normal. I never got the sense that he was in any kind of trouble or nothing."

Sam thanked him and headed out.

* * *

><p>Dean's fever raged in earnest. The wounds in his side flared and ached with the slightest movement, it felt like fingers of flame were creeping under his skin, spreading out from their source. He begged his mind to drift away, it was a lousy time to be conscious. He knew he was good and sick now, it wasn't the first time he'd felt this bad. It really was the worst time to start having visitors.<p>

There were a good number of them, and they shared an agenda of laying bitter blame on him. The fact that they were just hallucinations dredged from his subconscious by his fever was irrelevant...they were real enough to Dean.

The first to drop by was his father. Dean turned and there he was in front of him, his expression decidedly not parental. His eyes were abnormal...not eyes at all, they were holes, openings to some terrible, twisted place… He sneered at Dean, mocking his weakness. His voice was filled with hatred. _"Thanks a lot, Son. Do you have any f~~king idea what it feels like to be down here? You should have died, should have saved me from this. You weren't worth my sacrifice! It's all your fault! Just like everything! I suffer while you live and breath my life!" _The image of John changed. It distorted, like melting wax and burned flesh, twisting and dissolving and blackening as it hissed it's poisonous reproach. -_All your fault, Dean...you useless bastard!_- It was consumed by flame, reducing to a greasy residue in front of Dean's horror-struck vision. Delusion or not, it's effect was powerful.

Dean twitched and moaned, shaking his head in a denial that deep down he didn't believe. It was an unfortunate quirk, the imagery brought by his fever was never light or happy, they always found a tender spot, some secret regret, or fear, picking at it like a vulture until it was raw.

Bobby materialized. His old friend said nothing, he just stood with his arms crossed, staring down at Dean with a cold contempt. He spat at Dean and turned away.

Even Ellen made an appearance. She swore and cursed at him, for being the son the man responsible for her widowhood. While she poured on her diatribe of blame, he mumbled fevered apologies.

Her shape transformed, and she became Sam. There was nothing of the devoted brother here, he seethed with hatred, his words torturing Dean with more accusations, more guilt. -_You ruined my life, you sonofabitch! I could have had everything; happiness, picket fence, career, Jess! But you took it all! You pathetic, needy user; you threw away my life and gave me yours, you piece of garbage!-_

Dean tried to defend himself. He croaked something unintelligible. Hot tears welled as guilt and regret gripped with crushing weight. Others lined up to lay their blame at his feet. It was a parade of stony recrimination, he withered under it. He soaked it all up, everything they denounced him for...family, friends, strangers...all accusing him of causing their pain. He believed it all. He tried to apologize, to explain. But it came out in moans and thrashing. -_I'm sorry….I'm so sorry-_

He didn't hear the car stop. He didn't hear Sam's calls.

* * *

><p>Sam parked the Impala. He'd gotten pretty clear directions, so he was sure he was in the vicinity. It sure as hell was the boonies, nobody but cows and crows out here. He left the car, walking up and down the road, examining the ditch for signs. He soon found the evidence...hard-breaking tire marks on the pavement, scarred earth in the ditch. There were other heavier tracks, must have been the towtruck. He was sure he was in the right place. He peered into the brush. It was pretty thick, dry and tangled.<p>

The guy had said Dean had hit an animal. That wasn't abnormal. Crappy, but it happens. And the damage to the car was minimal, it couldn't have been too bad. Sam crouched, searching for tracks. Clawed feet had scrambled here, he recognized the marks. Big, whatever it was. It seemed to have survived the impact. No wonder Dean went after it. He knew his brother was hard, but he also knew what softened him.

Sam paused, listening. He called out...once...twice.

-_Nothing_- He hoped that was a good sign. He hoped Dean was simply so immersed in his own good times that he'd just forgotten to… _No_. No, that didn't feel right. Yeah, the goddamned bet kept the contact to a minimum. But the car...and the phone…

He stepped away from the road, following the scratched trail into the brush.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean covered his face with his arm, trying to block them out, but they didn't relent. He was suffocating under the weight of their accusations. His fading spirit shrank under their censure. He stopped trying to explain, he knew they were right. All of them, he'd wronged all of them, he deserved this... He wept with eyes too dry for tears, and gave up. Sam was better off without him. He was better off…

But when _she_ came...it was different. The last visitor appeared in gentle silence, and her presence cast all the others away. He stared at her with disbelief.

She radiated warmth, her expression filled with love, and compassion. She was antidote for the misery that the rest had heaped on him. Mary bent down and stroked his fevered cheek. Her face was wreathed in light, and soft smiles. She whispered to him...encouraging things, motherly things. She reminded him of his goodness, she said things that flew in the face of what he'd just accepted as the ugly truth.

He shook his head weakly. He couldn't stand it, and he turned away from her. He didn't believe her words, he couldn't…he knew he didn't deserve it. They'd all told him so...all those fine people-

But she turned his head, and gently and firmly spoke to him while she forced him to look at her. Her words flowed like a soft breeze, they soothed his fevered mind and battered soul. He wasn't the cause of it all. No one blamed him. And Sammy needed him to be strong…

And she told him she was proud.

Finally, her peaceful words pushed his torments away. She'd strengthened his spirit, and she told him what he had to do now. -_Call out to him now, sweetie. Sammy is looking for you...tell him where to find you. Try hard…for me, ok?…I love you, Dean, remember that._-

He nodded. -_Ok, Mom_-

She smiled again, and the radiance faded, and her image thinned until he was once again alone. No longer delusional, he was alert now, and aware of his surroundings.

-_for her_- He took a breath, and called Sam's name. It came out as a dry croak. He waited, and when no one answered, he ignored the pain, filled his lungs again and tried harder.

* * *

><p>Sam stopped suddenly. -<em>Something, a sound<em>-

It could have been anything, but still… He listened hard, trying to tune out all the other noises.

-_There! Again_- He turned in the direction he thought it came from, moving faster, scanning the ground. When he came across one of the stinking dead things, he stopped, backing away from the rotting odour. The sight of it panicked him but he stopped and shouted Dean's name. He listened again, holding his breath.

He was rewarded. It sounded a little like a bark, but he thought...maybe imagined, that he heard his name... The next sound was unmistakable. It was a groan, just like one he'd heard so many times before, and one he hated hearing. He broke into a run, and saw it; a figure, struggling to rise in a small clearing.

"DEAN!"

* * *

><p>Dean heard someone, at least he was pretty sure he did. He collapsed back down into the dirt, at the end of his strength.<p>

Sam skidded to a halt and knelt beside him, appalled by the scene that greeted his eyes. He slid his hands under his brother's neck and pulled him up, pulled him close, begging him to stay with him. "Dean! Aw, Dean, please-"

He was breathing, and responding a little to the voice that he hardly dared to believe he heard.

"Shh, easy..." A quick glance around told Sam what had transpired. The dead thing, huge, wolf-like. Dean's ragged state, the ugly wounds. He saw his side, a wound that was blistered and blackened. The stench of blood and sulphur and burned skin nearly gagged him.

Dean uttered a dry, choked sob.

"I'm here, Dean...it's ok. I'm here now." Sam assured repeatedly.

Dean tried to push himself up, but his arms were dead weights and his weakness refusing to allow it. With his brother near, he just wanted to let go and drift, but he tried to stay conscious. He wanted to speak but his mouth and throat were just too dry.

Sam realized that if he'd lain here for over a day and a half, bleeding, he was in dire need of water. He wasted no time, and gathered him up in his strong arms. He had to partially drag him, Dean was no small burden, but he made his way out of the brush and got him to the car. Dean had made little protest to the awkward handling, despite his injuries. Sam knew it was critical. He hauled him into the back seat, and searched frantically for any of the half-filled bottles of water that constantly rolled underfoot. He found one and opened it, carefully tipping it to Dean's parched mouth.

It brought him around, and he tried to swallow it hungrily, choking.

"Easy, Dean, slower—"

Dean opened his eyes and tried to focus. The water was pure heaven, he drew it in as quickly as Sam offered it, as if it was life itself. The moisture restored his ability to speak, somewhat.

"sammy…"

"Yeah, Dean. Shhhh, gonna be alright, ok?"

"werewolf-"

"I saw it, it's dead, it's alright."

Dean nodded. "my ring…"

Sam thought he was raving. Ring? But Dean persisted. It was important, more than ever now.

"please, Sam—"

Sam could see his brother's agitation despite his state. "What do you want me to do?"

"silver ring…on the stake...killed the wolf… Get it back for me."

Sam could see that it was terribly important to him, even now. Dean didn't keep many things, he wasn't materialistic, but the few things he had were precious to him. He nodded.

"Ok...ok, Dean, I'll get it. Just lie still, I'll only be a minute." He gently lay Dean's head down and sprinted back to the bloodied clearing. The werewolf was there, starting to bloat. It was monstrous, the biggest Sam had ever seen. -_must be ancient_- He looked it over, spying the splintered stick embedded in the chest. He tugged at it and it pulled clear, minus any ring. But he knew well enough that it was silver that killed it, not wood. He dug his fingers into the wound left by the stake, moving carefully in the softening flesh until he felt the foreign hardness of the ring. He gripped it between two finger-tips and drew it out.

He was amazed. His brother was a genius. If it weren't for this little circle of silver, he'd be dead, or worse. He retreated with his prize, hastening back to Dean. When he got to him, he held it up to his view, but he'd slipped into unconsciousness. Sam pocketed the precious thing, got in, and floored it to his motel.

He didn't know where the hell a hospital was in this area . But he did know where safety and comfort were to be found, at least for the moment, and he raced toward it at breakneck speed. He could check Dean out there, get him fresh water, and decide what to do. All the while, he spoke to his brother, reassuring him and trying to keep him in some responsive state. "Can you talk to me, Dean? Can you tell me what happened?"

Dean groaned again. —_aw, Sam...lemme sleep, it hurts_-

Sam hated forcing him to stay alert, but while he was driving, it was his only means of monitoring his brother's state. Dean's fever still burned, he was mumbling to himself. But he focused on Sam's voice.

"Went to a bar…the first-" He trailed off.

"First what, Dean?"

"First night… Hit something…tracked it." he said, in a hoarse whisper.

"A werewolf."

"Yeah… Lucky."

Sam watched him in the mirror, afraid to ask, but desperate to know— "Were you bitten? Dean?"

Dean was drifting away. Sam asked again, "Dean, did it bite you?"

"No…no, no bite. Got clawed up, wouldn't quit bleeding. Had to burn it."

Sam had feared that when he saw the blistering. "Jesus, Dean! Man, I gotta get you to hospital!"

That brought him abruptly to surface. "No! No, Sam," he insisted, his fever amplifying his panic. "Feds! Don't, Sam, please don't—" Dean was adamant. Hendrickson was tracking them in earnest now. He was sure that if someone matching his description turned up at a hospital, with strange injuries, questions would be raised, calls made. It would be game over. He was _not_ going to go to prison. Anything, even dying in a motel bed, was better.

Sam saw the raw fear in his glassy eyes. He half expected this reaction and he tried to calm him down. "Ok, Dean, ok, no hospital. I'll call David, he'll help."

Sapped of any remaining strength, Dean sunk back into his fitful murmuring.

* * *

><p>Sam had settled him on his bed. He gave him water as much as he dared, and all the Tylenol and ibuprofen he had, hoping to ease the fever. He washed the wounds, and the blood and dust from his hands and face.<p>

Dean fretted, making little sense. Sam laid cool damp towels over him, changing them frequently and ignoring his protests. But the fever persisted. Sweat and tears trailed in wet lines away from his face, he alternated between pulling at his blankets in heated distress, and shivering violently under them. Angry red lines snaked away from the wounds and Sam knew that if the inflammation continued he could lose him.

He hated to involve David...at the very least, the poor bastard always had to foot a very costly travel bill to save their asses. But he was at his wits end...he knew how to stitch a wound, even set a limb if need be, but he didn't know how to fix _this_. But Dean was absolutely right, they couldn't show up on the radar. He felt that time was running out, and he had to choose a course. He punched the speed-dial, praying the good doc would answer.

"_David Bowman here_…"

Sam had never felt more relief at hearing that voice. "David, it's Sam...Sam Winchester—"

Sam sounded grim. David knew at once that this wasn't the expected invitation to join them in Mexico. His heart sank, knowing this wasn't a casual call. "_Sam, what's wrong_?"

"It's Dean. He tangled with something, a werewolf." Sam knew the significance that held for his friend. Not that it mattered, David would have come no matter what the situation. "David, he's pretty torn up. I didn't know, he was bleeding out for over a day before I found him. He had to…he... Christ, his fever's so damn high, I can't get it down… And now we have feds on our trail, and a hospital would be tricky. David, I don't know what to do!"

Dr. David Bowman heard the distress in his friend's voice. "_Slow down, Sam. Describe what you see to me_."

Sam pulled himself together and focused. "He got torn by the claws, right side and chest. He said it wouldn't stop bleeding and he had to burn it closed, but he lost so much blood. And he was really dehydrated...and there's red streaks coming off the wounds."

"_What's his temp_?"

"106, it won't break, just keeps going up."

David swore. _"Sam, keep him cool, and hydrate him. Get some pedialyte from a pharmacy if you can, or gatorade if you can't. I'll get there as soon as I can get a flight!_"

Sam's voice broke. "David, he's out of his head, he's rolling around. I'm afraid he'll hurt himself, open it up again."

_"Just do what I said , Sam. Tie him if you have to. But keep him cool. If it goes any higher, get him into a cool tub, and keep trying those fluids. I'll stay in touch._"

"Thanks, David."

* * *

><p>David was appalled at the way the brothers were constantly forced to handle these things. <em>-should be in intensive care<em>- But he still had sharp memories of what happened when Dean ended up in a Nebraska hospital. He was identified and arrested, with Ellen and the others helping him to escape before he could be transferred to prison. The complications from that episode very nearly killed him. He sighed, worry-stricken. He had great respect and affection for these two brothers. It was agony to witness their constant struggle. He never resented being called.

David had begun to keep a special kit for these times. He sought it now, checking it to make sure it was complete and the meds current. It was basically a battlefield surgical kit. He felt like a civil war era sawbones, going out in the field to try to patch up the maimed soldiers. History showed they had a lousy record of success, he hoped his would be better.

* * *

><p>Sam tried again to get Dean to keep taking in water, but he was too out of it. If he kept pouring it Dean was liable to choke. He checked his temp again, and it had risen yet another increment. The damp towels were no longer cool and he got up to refresh them. All he could do was keep up the symptom relief. And wait.<p>

At last Dean had quieted. He wasn't moving, or squirming around so much. Sam chose to interpret that as some sort of peace for the moment. He was exhausted...the attention to his feverish brother, the worry, was weighing heavily on him. With Dean finally settled, he thought it would be a good time to go out to find the necessary liquids. _Pedialyte_—that was what David had said. Or Gatorade. He'd pick up what he could. He tucked Dean in tightly, using the blankets as a means of restraint. He felt his head, frowning that it was still hot. Dean didn't stir.

He needed to do something, he just couldn't watch anymore. He fired up the car and headed out in search of a pharmacy.

* * *

><p>David boarded. He got the usual flak when his kit went through the Xray. He always had to show his credentials and prove he wasn't planning to take over the aircraft with a scalpel and an IV tube. "Doctors Without Borders" he'd explain. It was his usual line. It cut him a fair bit of slack. And in reality, it wasn't really far off the mark; those other selfless physicians put themselves into war-zones to tend to the victims of conflict, and really, he was doing just the same. It wasn't a long flight. He would spend it going over ways to avoid taking his patient to hospital, the one place that would guarantee him recovery, and more than likely captivity. <em> Hell of a choice<em>.

* * *

><p>Sam was relieved to find a pharmacy on the same block. He found what David had requested, and added some more items before making his way to the cash.<p>

The cashier looked at him with sympathy. "Oh dear...lots of Pedialyte. Does your little one have that flu that they're all getting lately?" she asked.

Sam nodded. "Uh, yeah...high fever. My doctor said to give him this."

"Well, that's good. It does help replace the some of the salts and things they lose when they're so sick. Hope he's better soon."

Sam thanked her. It didn't matter that she was a little off regarding the patient's age. It was comforting regardless. He shouldered his flat of bottles, picked up his bag and headed back.

Sam carried his purchases in, dropping them onto the dresser. He hovered over Dean—checking to see if there was any change. Dean hadn't stirred much—thank goodness-the tightly tucked sheets kept him safely trapped.

Poor Sam was desperate to hear from David. He didn't like the stillness Dean now exhibited. The fever-fueled motion and sounds were disturbing enough, but this...this was just eerie. And he was still running very hot. Sam checked the worst wound. It was red-edged, and the lines of inflammation were spreading further. He refreshed the moist, cool towels. Dean always protested at that, shuddering as they touched his hot skin. But this time he had no response, he was too far away.

"C'mon, Dean…stick with me here!" Sam poured some of the pedialyte into a cup, raised Dean a little and put it to his lips. Thankfully, Dean roused slowly and took some of it.

"Hey, Dean...is that any better? How are you feeling?"

Dean blinked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words were forth-coming.

"David's on his way, Dean. You'll feel better really soon, I promise, so hang in there, ok?"

Dean nodded, he understood. Sam gave him some more fluid, which he took in slowly. He made a face.

"…bourbon?" he whispered.

Sam smiled, thrilled to hear something lucid from his brother. "You got it." He reached down to their gear and retrieved the requested bottle, filling a small cup. He held it to his mouth and Dean drank a small amount.

"thanks." Dean said, closing his eyes.

Sam wanted to know more, while his brother was conscious. "Tell me how you feel, ok? David will want to know."

"hurts…"

"What hurts?"

"-side… my whole side." he grimaced. "It's on fire... f~~king killing me!"

"You have a serious infection, Dean."

"You think?"

-_That's it, stay feisty_— Sam thought. "Dean, the cauterizing; how'd you know how to do it?"

"Just Dad stuff. He taught me. You know...right after he showed me how to put a good spin on a football, and how to talk to girls." he snorted.

Sam looked down, horrified but thankful. Weird thing to teach a kid. But thank god he did.

"Any more in that bottle?"

"Maybe in a while, Dean, it'll just dehydrate you more. Have some of this first." He held more of the clear fluid out to him, and Dean reluctantly swallowed it.

He made a face. "That's gross, dude...are you trying to put me outa my misery?"

Sam just smiled a weary smile, and made him drink a little more.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam had managed to get a decent fill of electrolytes into him, interspersed with the bourbon. He hoped it was helping, the fever wasn't waning much. Dean had been quiet for a while, sleeping, but he'd started to become fitful again. Sam checked his watch for the hundredth time. He was startled by the ring of his phone. "David?"

"_Yeah, I just got in. Can you pick me up? If it's not safe to leave him, I can get a cab_."

Sam looked over at his brother. "He'd fretful, but I can come. See you in about fifteen minutes. And David...thanks again."

"_No prob, Sam. I'll be at the main entrance of terminal two_."

Sam was reluctant to leave Dean. He was moving around now, moaning, but he figured the sheets would secure him again for the short time, and David's presence would be worth the risk. He tucked them in firmly, satisfied that they would hold until he returned. He explained to Dean where he was going, but he didn't acknowledge that he'd heard or understood. Sam stood back, hovering in indecision. He sighed unhappily, and headed out.

* * *

><p>"Over here!" David saw Sam first, and waved.<p>

Sam waved back and joined him, picking up his bags. David snatched them back. "Do you have any idea how tired you look?"

"I can guess. How was your flight?"

"Up...level...and down like a feather, no complaints. How's he doing?"

Sam shrugged. "Fever's still high. The redness is spreading. I got him to take in a fair amount of liquid so far, that helped. He was pretty with-it a few hours ago, he said his side hurt. He wanted his bourbon, of course."

"Mmm. What about you, Sam? how are you making out so far?"

"Me? I'm just tired. I had a great few days in the city. He and I separated for some time away, we were driving each other nuts. We were going to meet again in three days and keep going to Mexico, and hang out there for a while. But I got a call on his cell from a tow truck driver two days later, the guy said he'd called for a tow the first night, after hitting an animal, and he was going to check it out while he waited for the truck. They towed the car, but they never saw him. I went out to the spot and searched, and he was there, with a dead werewolf nearby."

Sam sighed wearily and continued. "There was blood everywhere, god, when I saw him, I thought at first…Anyway, I brought him here because he freaked when I suggested the hospital. David, I'm sorry to drag you out here, but hell, I just didn't know how to help him!"

David squeezed his shoulder. "Sam, you know I'm always here for you guys. Especially this time...a _werewolf, _jesus! I might want to go out there and see for myself a little later, maybe kick the damn thing in the head!"

"Deal." Sam said. That was the least he could do.

* * *

><p>Sam unlocked, and David stepped in, dropped his bags, and immediately knelt beside Dean. -<em>shit<em>— "Sam, need your help!"

Dean had managed to struggle off the bed and was lying on his side on the carpet. Sam and David hauled him back onto the sheet and David quickly assessed him. There was a dark stain on the dirty broadloom, the seared wound had opened again in the fall. He was not encouraged by Dean's high fever, and even less so when he saw the angry, inflamed condition of the injury. This would be a long night. But he sought to calm Sam before the poor kid's head popped.

"It's ok, Sam...it's probably not a bad thing, with all that infection it's good to drain some of the toxins. But I have to get this dealt with right now. I need a bowl of hot water, whatever towels you have, and some light brought closer, ok?"

Poor Sam nodded, and set about gathering the requested things.

David turned his attention back to his patient. He took his temp and heart rate, was pleased that at least his lungs were still clear. He checked over the now oozing wound, as well as the others. He caught sight of the fading bruises all over Dean's back, but he pushed that back in his mind. It wasn't critical, and he'd find out about that later.

Sam returned with the items and then brought a standing lamp as close as it's cord would allow.

"Ok, Sam, just hold this...keep pressure on that wound while I set up here." David meticulously laid out his tools of the trade on a sterile cloth. He affixed the IV onto the lamp, which made a handy substitution for a stand.

Dean sighed and turned his head, still unaware. He mumbled something, frowning.

David inserted the IV and Dean's frown deepened. Thanks to Sam's efforts, he was better hydrated now, and now that he could spare the moisture his face was beaded with sweat. Sam reached for one of the damp cloths and wiped it dry.

David looked up. "Ok, Sam. I'll tell you what I'll be doing. I'm going to sedate him. Once that is in effect, I'm going to clean out this one here, and the other gashes. There's a lot of damaged and necrotic tissue from the infection, and the burning he did, and that has to be removed. It will bleed, and I'll need you to clear that when I ask you to, ok?"

Sam nodded.

"Good. After that I'll suture and get him started on some antibiotics."

"So with the sedative, he won't feel anything?"

"Uh…well, it's not quite the same as a general anesthesia. To be honest, he may feel things on some level, we don't know exactly. Patients don't remember pain but their heart rates jump, and there can be other indicators that they were responding to it during the process. That's why we don't do every surgery this way, it's just not as deep a state as general. There's a whole field dedicated to anesthesiology."

Sam blanched. David cursed his inability to keep from speaking truthfully. He'd always been a lousy liar.

"We'll do this quickly, Sam. He'll be ok."

* * *

><p>David did what he'd described, as Sam hovered, ready to do what was needed.<p>

"Sam, hold him still!" David had probed the wound to assess the depth and Dean reacted, he frowned and moaned softly. Sam held him, keeping him from any further motion. He realized after a moment that he was grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw was starting to ache. He'd need a bloody dentist after this whole thing.

David continued his skilled work, quickly and surely. Dean made a few more quiet sounds of protest but Sam held him firm, and repeatedly soaked up the blood when it obscured David's view. Finally, he tied off his last suture and administered the necessary drugs. Dean's heart beat was rapid now. Sam kept mopping the sweat that trickled off his face. But it was over.

David covered his work with bandages, put his things aside and sighed deeply. He leaned back in his chair. "Ok, Sam, that's it. We'll take turns monitoring him, ok? I call first watch."

Sam protested, wanting to stay right there, but David was adamant. "To quote your eloquent brother; You look like shit, Sam. If you don't go and crash for a bit I'll sedate you too, alright? And I'm going to need some of your blood, since you two are the same type."

Sam nodded, and thanked him yet again. David drew a pint to start with, and immediately got that connected to the IV. So fortunate that they were compatible…

"Got anything to drink around here?" David asked.

Sam located the bourbon, and told him to help himself. "Sorry, David, it's warm as horse-piss. No ice..."

"It'll do, thanks. Now go."

Sam did, curling up gratefully on one of the upholstered chairs.

David sat with his glass of warm JD, watching over his patient. -_Lots of infection._- He hoped they'd made the right decision. He leaned forward and wiped the sweat from Dean's brow again, thinking, _-don't you let us down, now-_

* * *

><p>Sam fell into a quick and deep sleep, practically a miracle considering how he had to compress himself into a shape that fit the chair. Worrying takes a lot of energy. He stayed that way for several hours, until his body finally protested loudly enough that he awoke and stiffly unfolded himself.<p>

David was still on his watch, faithfully. He was reading, and he looked up at Sam's groan of complaint. "Age catching up to you, Sam?" he smiled.

"No...just a bad case of tiny, lumpy chair syndrome. Any change?"

"He's been quiet. Temp's gone down a little. I think he'll be ok…" David looked him over again and then rooted in his bag for some cards.

"Looking to get fleeced again..?" Sam asked, pulling up his chair.

"Yeah, right! Not by you...it's Dean who cleaned me out last time. As I recall, your losses were pretty close to mine."

"Maybe. But I was letting you people win, so I could hustle you later."

David laughed out loud. Dean mumbled something, adding to the conversation, and it caused instant hovering by the both of them. Sam patted his face dry as David did his checks. "Hi, Dean...how are you?" David asked, hardly expecting a response.

But Dean fluttered his eyelids and attempted to focus on his face. "oh _Christ_..._now_ I'm a dead man." he whispered.

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome, you bloody ingrate!" David grinned.

"Ham-fisted hack." Dean smiled back weakly. He closed his eyes and drifted off again.

Sam snorted. But he turned away, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes.

It wasn't lost on David. He had Ellen now, and he was happy himself again after losing his wife to a werewolf so long ago. But he envied the powerful bond between these two brothers. It often brought him to tears himself, watching from the sidelines as they followed their chosen path. It was so hard, bearing witness to all their struggles. He worried that someday, despite his best efforts, one of them would have to face a life without the company of the other.

But not today. Or tomorrow, if he had any say in the matter. He dealt the cards.

* * *

><p>By early morning, David was asleep. Sam sat in the watch seat. He'd donated another pint to his brother, and another twenty bucks to the good doctor at cards.<p>

Dean had been quiet. His temp had been steadfastly declining after the motel bed-surgery. It was such a relief...Sam was so damned unnerved by his older brother's ramblings and rants while in the throes of the fever. He'd had to watch, helplessly, uselessly, as Dean battled his succession of horrors. But he wasn't battling any demons now, he was peaceful. Sam was looking forward to talking with him and hearing about the whole werewolf experience. And he knew that David wanted to hear too.

He reflected over the past few days. It had been a wonderful, for him. And now he knew that Dean had had exactly the opposite experience. He was trying so damned hard to keep from feeling guilty about that, but it was useless. He hoped he'd at least gotten laid, although that was unlikely since he was alone and heading to ? that night. He shook his head. -_unbelievable._- Only Dean could turn a simple vacation from each other into a life-threatening supernatural experience. He was a freaking magnet for harm.

They had to stop this someday. They just _had_ to.

His muse was interrupted by a complaint from the patient. Sam touched his forehead and he was rewarded by cooler feeling skin than the previous time. Dean frowned and twisted his head away from the attention, opening his bleary eyes.

"Hey, Dean…How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." he growled, rubbing his eyes. "I'm starving. David still here?"

"Uh huh, sleeping in the chair...do you want me to wake him?"

Dean shook is head but it was irrelevant anyway, the good doc was already getting up.

"Hello Dean. Glad you could join us." he smiled.

Dean nodded a greeting as David peeled back the bandages to monitor the state of things. The red lines were already retreating. And the other wounds were healing without issue. With the boost offered through Sam's blood donations he was strengthening already. David voiced the positive change to the brothers.

"Well how come it hurts so freaking much then? Dean demanded, irritated. With growing strength came his usual difficult patient routine.

David would have none of it. "_Why_? Because your backwoods cauterizing job, as essential as it was, -and _holy shit_, by the way, made a bloody mess of your hide. I had to remove all kinds of tissue from it, I felt like Shylock carving out my pound of flesh, for god's sake. You're going to carry a wicked scar from this for the rest of your unlucky life. Add the considerable infection to that and yeah, waddya know, it _hurts! _And_ y_ou can thank your brother anytime for saving your ass, by the way. He found you and hauled you here and got me out here to do my little nip and tuck. A few more hours out there and we'd have been picking out your coffin."

"Sparkly white arborite—with orange shag carpet for lining, by the way." Sam added.

Chastened, Dean looked down. He knew he owed them both. He still felt really crappy, but he rose above his bad mood and thanked them gruffly. David patted his shoulder patiently. Sam smiled wryly.

Dean changed the subject. "Orange shag, really?"

"Yep. Only the best for you."

"Awesome." he smiled.

* * *

><p>They let him rest for a while. When he woke again, Sam was hovering. "Do you want some soup, or something?"<p>

Dean nodded. He was feeling pretty hollow, having had nothing but water and the other liquids for too long.

Sam got up to prepare it, going out to the car to retrieve their hot plate and a couple of chicken soup packets. As he fussed with it, David asked Dean quietly… "How did you find it, Dean^ The werewolf...how'd you kill it?"

Dean remembered why this was so important to David. He was tired, but he described it for his friend. "I didn't find it, it found me. I left the bar around two or something, I forget. Took a scenic route to avoid any cops, and ended up hitting it on the road. It put me in the ditch. I didn't see what it was, and figured I should track it a little to see if it was ok or not. The car was useless so I called for a tow." He paused. He was very weak and the talking was draining him.

"You can tell me later."

"No, it's ok."

Sam came over, wanting to hear as well.

"Anyway, I went out into the brush, the moon was bright enough to see decently. Saw the tracks, thought it was maybe some big dog at first. But then I found the dead cows. They were savaged, hearts gone. Two of them, one fresh, the other not. It got pretty disgusting. But after that, I found the dead guy."

"You found a dead person?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. And he was pretty fresh too. Torn to shreds...his heart ripped out too. That's when I figured I was in trouble. Man, you should have seen the sonofabitch, it was the biggest one I've ever seen. Bobby says that the bigger and more natural-wolf like, the older they are. Well this one must have been bloody ancient. It came after me just about the same time I started thinking I should get the hell outa there." Dean's eyes were drooping.

"Hang on, have your soup first." Sam said. He and David pulled him up a little in the bed.

"Aw, easy, jesus!" he groaned. He glanced down at the puffy, sutured wound, wincing. He was impressed, it looked pretty gross.

" _Christ,_ David, what exactly did you pull out of there?"

"Oh, I don't know..." David dead-panned. "It was pretty bad lighting. Couple of spare organs, I'm sure you'll never miss'em. Better lay off the whiskey, though, just in case it was your liver…"

Dean was about to open his mouth but Sam cut him off. "Shut up and drink your soup."

He obediently did, and continued his re-telling. "So we tussled for a while. I was getting tired, figured I was screwed without any silver shells. I shot it a couple of times with regular rounds, which scared it off long enough for me to rig up a stake with my silver ring on the end. The first try it got knocked away, I was trying to keep from getting bit, couldn't do anything about the clawing. I managed to shoot it again, but the ring was lost, and I had to look around until I found it. I jammed it back on the stick and rammed it into its heart. Woke up with the damn thing dead on top of me." He stopped, closing his eyes, remembering. He finished the story in a whisper, despite their protests that he rest. "Ifigured I was bleeding out...I wrapped it tight but it wouldn't quit. So I cracked open a bullet, poured out the powder on it and lit it. Since I'm still here, I guess it worked." That was all he could manage, he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He drifted off.

David sat, open mouthed, absolutely astounded. Sam was equally shocked, more so by the casual description offered by Dean after his hellish experience than anything else. Once again he realized what depth of strength his brother had. Not to mention freaking 'nads of iron.

Sam came to a conclusion then. He had to replace the ruined holiday for the poor bastard. He would make it his most pressing mission.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean's convalescence continued uninterrupted and without incident. He always healed quickly, which was a blessing considering how many times he had to. Sam had rented another room so that he and David could take turns crashing while the other stayed with the patient. By now it wasn't so much a health watch as making sure he didn't get up or do something prematurely stupid, always a possibility with Dean.

Sam and Dean exchanged stories of what they did during their separation.

Dean had opinions regarding Sam's efforts, naturally. "_Esther_? Are you serious? Sammy, were you poaching in the retirement homes again…? Man, that's just sad!"

"Shut up! And excuse me, your little conquest sounded like a _real_ challenge. Kinda picking the low-hanging fruit, weren't you?"

Dean didn't answer, he just offered a self-satisfied, far-away grin.

But Dean was happily impressed by his brother's conquest. He figured that was long overdue, and maybe now Sam would be a little easier to live with for a while. He was partly right...Sam had been recharged by his few days away, but not so much for the reasons Dean assumed, but rather that he'd been able to fill his senses for a while with things that he craved, things he lacked while on the road with his brother.

And Sam was very glad to hear that at least Dean's one evening before the werewolf encounter had been suitably entertaining.

David filled them in on the news from his corner. Ellen and he were still an item. She was as intractable as ever. He described the mutt he'd chosen...a pound inmate. It was a medium sized dog with a curly coat, and by all accounts kind of homely. He was struck by it's dejected and forlorn aura when he first saw it. It had been there for a while, passed over repeatedly for other, cuter pups. David was instantly taken with it. When he'd gotten it home he realized he'd been played...this was no quiet, retiring and grateful companion. Instead, it was a couch cushion-shredding, carpet-pooping, non-stop-barking holy terror. And he loved it, and it loved him back. He named it Mayhem.

"_Christ_, David— first your woman, and now your dog…you don't like things easy, do you?"

David snorted. "Oh, this from Dean Winchester. You know, other, _normal_ people run over squirrels or groundhogs. But not you. You have to hit a freak of nature! Uh, and on that subject...what do you think of Sam showing me that thing? I was thinking...I might want to see it. I don't know….I just feel like I need to."

Dean understood his need. But there were complications. "David…man, I hear you, but here's the thing. There's a body there, and by now it'll have been discovered, and cops will be all over it. There's nothing out there to draw anyone randomly, so if somebody saw you poking around—they'd be likely to think you were involved. And the wolf remains will be pretty much jello by now...things like that seem to decompose way faster than anything natural. There'll be nothing left for you to put the boots to, trust me."

David was disappointed, but he understood caution.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, fussing over the IV tube. He was itching to hit the road...all he'd seen for the last five days was the interior of the motel room.

"Stop that!" David barked in annoyance. "Sit still!" He removed the needle, freeing Dean again. "It's too early, you know. You should be on this at least a few days longer…"

Dean responded with an _I Win_ look.

David sighed. "Just as well...I have to get back. Ellen's watching the dog, and if he pisses her off he may end up on the roadhouse menu." He rooted through his kit, retrieving a pill bottle. "Here. These will replace that IV...take them four times a day until they're gone. Do you need anything for pain?"

Dean shook his head, pointing instead to the nearly empty bottle on the nightstand. "Nope—over-the-counter will do me fine." He grumbled as David checked him over one last time.

The fresh wounds were healing safely, and David felt he could leave the two of them to their own devices again, not that that worked out particularly well lately. But David was still wondering about those other marks. "What the hell happened between Houston and Florida, Dean? These are pretty deep contusions..."

Dean shrugged and pulled down his shirt, covering them from view. "Aw, it's just...old news. Had a run in with a crooked cop in Louisiana. It's nothing."

_-hardly nothing_—David thought. But he didn't press him, clearly he didn't want to talk about it. He knew Sam would fill him in if he asked.

Sam came in from the other room, immediately spying the dangling tube. He looked at his brother accusingly.

Dean reacted with defiance. "What? David undid me! He needs to go, and so do we, Sam! "

David nodded. "He'll be fine. As long as you can keep him out of trouble for at least a little while—and_ good luck_ with that. Keep those sutures in for a week before you pull them. And Sam, make sure he finishes out his antibiotics. Other than that, just travel as long as you feel comfortable—and try to sleep in decently clean places."

Both Sam and Dean started to thank him for his life-saving attentions, but he cut them off. "I know, guys, you don't have to say it. And I owe you for taking out one more of those filthy evil creatures...another notch on the barrel for Catherine. Just ...please...don't find yourselves in the position of having to call me again_ too_ soon, ok? I mean, I like your company and all, ...but _Christ_!"

They knew what he meant.

"How about we call you from some nice little beach-hut in Cancun or something? Strictly R&R...leave the scissors at home." Dean offered.

David paused for a moment. He knew that was highly unlikely. These two were more inclined to find themselves immersed in dangerous exploits than rest and relaxation. But he played along anyway. "Yeah...that could work for me, thanks. Call me when the margaritas are poured."

* * *

><p>Sam drove David to an airport hotel, as he'd booked an early morning flight. As they drove, David asked him about Louisiana and Sam described that incident.<p>

David sighed sadly. "You know, Sam...I was going to work on you to get him to give up this life before it kills him, or kills both of you—but seems to me you weren't even looking for trouble these last few times. Your luck _sucks,_ my friend. I'm gonna have to mail you a bunch of four leaf clovers!"

Sam grunted his agreement. "No kidding. I've been going over that in my mind for weeks. I don't know...fate kinda has it in for us lately, no matter what we do. So I guess we might as well keep ridding the place of whatever evils we can, we're gonna get crapped on anyway. All we can do is try to pace it so that we can recover in between the rough patches. And maybe have some good times here and there. But, David...I really do appreciate being able to call on you when we're desperate. You'd tell me if that was wearing thin...wouldn't you…?"

"It never will, Sam. I'm committed to this...for Catherine, first...and for you two, and Ellen. And Bobby. I can't do what you do, hell—I don't want to...but I can do_ this_. "

It was getting too heavy, the conversation. He wanted to leave on a light note. "But listen, next time you two find one of these demonic hairballs, I expect to get a tanned werewolf skin rug in the mail, alright? You do that for me and we're even."

Sam laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

><p>David forced Sam to promise to call regularly, regardless of the reason. And Sam agreed.<p>

Seeing it through his friend's eyes made their chosen path make a little more sense. He drove back feeling better about things, despite the heavy cost lately. If there were others out there who understood, and appreciated what he and Dean did, then the sacrifices must be worthwhile on some level.

He thought of Dean, and his casual and matter-of-fact approach to his endless battle scars. The guy gave everything, and never asked for anything back. He had his simple pleasures, his few prized possessions. He was difficult at times, but he never expected anything from anybody, he just went ahead and did his thing to keep the world as safe as he could—whether anyone cared or not.

Sam wanted to do something to show that he was one of those few who were aware and grateful, but he had no idea what. He wracked his brains trying to come up with something perfect—something meaningful. At a loss, he finally decided to keep it simple. He stopped at a mall and came back with a large, soft package. He came in, laden with two fresh coffees, a box of Krispy Kremes, and his purchase, which he tossed onto the bed beside his reclining brother.

Dean's eyes sparkled at the treats. He took the cup offered and glanced at the package. "So…what's this?"

Sam sat beside him and sipped his coffee. "That's just something…..just some things, kind of a thank-you."

Dean cocked his head. "Thanks for _what_?"

Now Sam was at a loss. He just shrugged. Dean shook his head and smiled, tearing open the gift. "Hey! Shirts! And tee-shirts! _Shit_...thanks, Sam. I was getting low after shredding so many lately. These are great!"

"All your favourite drab colours, Dean. Brown, beige, grey, and..uh..more brown."

Dean grinned back. "Cool."

They both dove into the donuts before they had to say anything more.

* * *

><p>They headed off towards their target destination next morning. Sam drove, having won that battle of wills. He took it slowly. They stopped frequently, and Dean slept regularly in the back, despite how he disliked it. He needed it, and Sam was there making sure he wasn't pushing too hard. During those times...as he listened to the soft snoring behind him, peppered with the occasional curse at any rough patches in the road, Sam would look back and smile a little.<p>

This was the way it was going to be. They had their path to blaze. The hunting was a part of them...part of their future. But he was gonna make sure those in between times were long and healthy and happy. He popped out the mullet rock and put his own tunes in. He sighed happily as Bittersweet Symphony filled his ears.

_-Ok. It's good. -mexico—here we come._

The end.

* * *

><p>Thanks, y'all, for your attentions. Always means a lot.<p> 


End file.
